


A Romantic Or Aromantic?

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal, Aromantic John, Aromantic Sherlock, Fingering, Fisting, Frottage, Glory Hole, M/M, Multi, Oral, Promiscuity, Romantic John, preg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson isn’t gay- he’s bisexual and aromantic towards men. When he explains this to Sherlock it causes him to realize that he is aromantic to both genders. What are two aromantic men sharing a flat with a squish on each other to do? Each other, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Romantic Or Aromantic?

 

_An_ **_aromantic_ ** _is a person who experiences little or no romantic attraction_ _to others. Where romantic people have an emotional need to be with another person in a romantic relationship, aromantics are often satisfied with friendships and other non-romantic relationships._

_A **squish** is an aromantic crush, a desire for a strong platonic relationship with someone; this envisioned relationship is usually more emotional intimate than a typical friendship. Both crushes and squishes could involve persistent thoughts about the person of interest, self-consciousness around that person, desires to be with him or her, fantasies about physical (not necessarily sexual) contact with him or her, or any combination of these. However, crushes sometimes entail jealousy of partners of the person of interest, and desire for romantic contact (such as kissing), a dating relationship, or marriage, while squishes do not. _

 

Sherlock needed sex. There was simply no way around that. Apparently he’d used up his quota of wanks that year and was simply going to have to find a partner. The problem was he _hated_ having to find someone for sex, because they inevitably wanted _more_. He didn’t have more to give. Since meeting John he’d discovered that he could fall deeply in like with someone, a surprising fact, but the very idea of having a _girlfriend_ or _boyfriend_ made him want to wretch. The unlucky part of having John in his life was that his popularity was now so high that he couldn’t go out and get himself a one-off without drawing stalkers, fans, and people who wanted just a bit too much from him. Why couldn’t they all be like John? Content to be close to him without demanding commitments, some deep connection he couldn’t fathom, or becoming insanely jealous when he took an interest in someone else? John was perfectly content to be the yin to his yang without demanding Sherlock care about _every damn thing_ that crossed his mind. They could fight without tears, laugh without demands, and be close without expectations.

_Except the one closeness you want_.

John wasn’t gay (or was at least closeted) so there was no sex for them. John wouldn’t want it. Sherlock did. The issue was that even if John _were_ gay or bisexual (and _not_ closeted) Sherlock wasn’t willing to risk the near-perfect friendship that they had for a one-off. Even assuming he would want to have sex with John again afterwards- and he rather thought he would- John was the romantic sort. He would want a relationship, commitment, dates, snuggling, furniture rearrangement, doilies, marriage, and perhaps even _children_. The idea was repulsive, even with John. He had no idea why friends couldn’t simply relieve their urges together and then move on like logical beings, without the expectation of ‘settling down’ or even an encore.

So Sherlock temporarily stained his skin coffee-coloured in order to make himself appear a different race- the easiest form of disguise after changing one’s height- dressed himself nicely, and then headed out to try and pull someone. Men were easier to pull so he headed for the nearest gay club and spent a bit of time staring and pretending to drink alcohol. Eventually he got uncomfortable enough to _start_ drinking. Men were interested in him, but he was so attractive they were often too intimidated to approach him and Sherlock hadn’t worked out how to approach them without appearing intimidating as hell. Finally he took the plunge and strode over to an attractive blonde man with hideous clothes.

“Hello,” Sherlock stated clearly, “I’d like to have sex with you tonight. No strings attached.”

The man gave him a deer in the headlights look and Sherlock wondered if he’d have had better luck if he’d worn the deerstalker; perhaps that’s what they were really for. Sherlock sighed and gave him a full minute to reply while the man opened and shut his mouth. His eyes flickered through several thoughts, wondering at his good luck and then clearly worrying what the catch was. Sherlock finally lost patience with his gaping and barged in.

“Oh, come on! You’re in a dead end job at a restaurant, with no romantic attachments, and you haven’t had enough to drink to make you a mute moron!”

The man gave him a pissed off look, made a rude gesture, and then stormed off. His friends were laughing, but one of them hung back and gave Sherlock an appreciative look. Apparently he’d had enough to put up with Sherlock’s lip… or he wasn’t a very good friend. Sherlock had just smirked and gestured toward the door when two people walked through it that sent Sherlock into a panic.

John and Lestrade.

They were hanging off of each other, clearly pissed and likely unaware that the establishment they had entered catered exclusively to gay men. Sherlock took one look at them, realized what he’d face at the Yard if Lestrade recognized him, forgot he was wearing a disguise, and then bolted for the toilet.

The door opened behind him a second after he’d looked in the mirror and rolled his eyes at himself; He bolted again because there was no way John wouldn’t see through a disguise like this one if he were _a few feet away_. He hid in a stall and swore to himself angrily. If he’d just grabbed that blokes arm and left John likely wouldn’t have noticed him in passing, but now they were in an enclosed space together. Chances of recognition were roughly 60% assuming John was as drunk as he appeared and not just giddy from being ridiculous with Lestrade.

John entered the stall beside Sherlock, who rolled his eyes at his terrible luck, and then cleared his throat loudly. Sherlock was confused. He was almost certain that John hadn’t even looked up at him when he’d bolted, so how had he figured out…?

There was a fumbling sound and then Sherlock glanced down as he heard something scraping against the wall of the stall. He glanced down and grinned at his wild good luck. A glory hole. A glory hole with John’s semi-erect cock peeping through it. Sherlock dropped to the ground and eagerly took it in hand lapping at it while he stroked it to fullness. John’s belt buckle scraped the wall of the stall as his hips rocked a bit and Sherlock reached through the hole and fondled his bollocks, causing him to rock up on his toes eagerly. Sherlock resumed stroking the now engorged shaft, enjoying the feel of John’s cockhead in his mouth. He’d dared to fantasize about this once or twice, but _having it_ , and with no repercussions, was too good to be true! He moaned around his mouthful and worked his tongue along the glans and beneath the foreskin. John swore on the other side of the door and Sherlock silently agreed with him. He had never done this without protection before, but he knew John was clean and he _wanted_ this.

His first taste of precome was surprising, but it didn’t make him want to stop. Instead he took more of John’s cock in, creating a rippling motion with his tongue that massaged the underside until he was panting and grasping at the top of the stall.

“Your fucking mouth is _amazing_ ,” John gasped, “How are you doing that?”

Sherlock forced back a smile. He enjoyed John’s compliments and wasn’t surprised to hear him giving them to a ‘stranger’. In response he hollowed his cheeks and worked the shaft as well until John was panting in sync with Sherlock’s eager head bobbing. He sucked when he pulled back, flicked the base of his head when he reached the tip, and then swallowed him down with a firm stroke along the underside of his cock. John groaned and then gasped out a warning and Sherlock’s mouth filled with salty fluids. He gagged a bit at the taste but swallowed it down on principle. He stood up then, struggling with his own tight trousers, and once the semi-turgid cock had vanished from the hole he eagerly stuck his own hard member through. It wouldn’t take long… assuming that John even _went_ for it.

He did. He let out a needy moan and dropped to his knees as if he’d been offered a prime steak while starving. His belt buckle flopped on the ground and Sherlock realized that _John’s trousers were still undone!_ He rolled a condom onto Sherlock’s cock and took pity on his throbbing state by swallowing him down. Sherlock received the shock of his life then when John proved himself far from inexperienced as he worked Sherlock’s cock like a high priced rentboy. Sherlock was already on edge, but now he was shooting towards climax at a heady rate. His head spun as he reached the edge and hovered there, panting with need. Three of John’s fingers reached through the hole and expertly stoked Sherlock’s bollocks as they tightened and his breathe came short. Then Sherlock was coming, a long drawn out groan as satisfaction coursed through his body and made his legs weak. John lapped at him to draw out his pleasure until Sherlock shuddered and pulled away. Then he whispered a thank you, zipped up, and left with an awkward gait. Sherlock stood there until the condom started to slide off and then pulled it off in disgust. He _hated_ those things, but he understood the necessity.

Sherlock straightened his clothes, exited the stall, peeked out the door to locate Greg and John, and then slipped out of the bar with a frown on his face. He had gotten off, but it hadn’t sated the urge he had for human connection. He wanted to have sex with someone, not with a mouth through a wall. It had been a kinky fantasy, and he’d _definitely_ enjoyed it and been grateful for the chance, but he wasn’t as satisfied as he’d expected to be. He would have to go out the next night and try again; for now he was at least relaxed enough to finish his experiment.

XXX

John woke up with a throbbing headache and a mouth that tasted like rubber and greasy food.

_Rubber_.

_Oh gods._

_I sucked off a bloke last night._

_Sherlock will know._

_He’ll take one damn look at me and KNOW._

John groaned, winced at the horrid sound of his own voice, and then staggered downstairs to piss and make coffee before his brain stalled and he felt the need to kill himself rather than face his flatmate. He had managed a cup of coffee and some dry toast when Sherlock came out of his own room looking chipper. He was fully dressed for a change, but what caught John’s eye was that the back of his neck was a dark brown. John headed for the kitchen, wandered by Sherlock on his way, and got a closer look. It appeared to be make-up or something of that sort. Something for a case, then.

John filled a glass of water and sat down opposite Sherlock just as he started plucking at his violin.

“Sherlock,” John stated, clearing his throat, “We need to talk.” 

“Hm?”

“It’s about… it’s about last night.”

Sherlock froze, his eyes rose slowly and he gave John a cornered look. For a moment John entertained the idea that Sherlock was homophobic, but he quickly dismissed that. There was probably something melted, burnt, or broken in the flat and he thought John had found it. He’d search later. Finding it was easier than demanding it from Sherlock.

“Go on?” Sherlock prompted, and John realized that he was drifting in his post-night out haze.

“Um. Right. Sorry,” John shifted, rubbing at his face, “Listen, last night Greg and I got kicked out of our usual place. We were pissed and they’d already had a fight and… the point is that we ended up stopping at a gay bar so I could piss.”

John paused, sipping at his drink while he collected his thoughts and wondered at Sherlock’s uncharacteristic silence. Finally he went on.

“So while I was there I sort of… met a bloke and… look, you’ve probably deduced it all so I’m just going to leave the details to your deductions and explain myself. I know I’m always saying I’m not gay, and I’m not. I’m bisexual. I’ve known for ages but I usually don’t get involved with men because I’m not attracted to them romantically and…”

“What?” Sherlock interrupted.

“I said I’m not attracted to them-“

“Then how are you bisexual? Of course you’re attracted to men, you gave one head through a toilet stall wall last night. You don’t do that when you’re _not_ attracted to a gender.”

John sighed, “This is why I never explain it. Just… hear me out. I’m not saying I’m notattracted to men _sexually_ , I’m saying I’m not attracted to them _romantically_. As in I don’t want to date them.”

“You date women all the time. What’s the difference?” Sherlock asked, leaning forward curiously.

“I’m attracted to women romantically. It’s just my attraction to men that’s aromantic.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Aromantic. It means- in my case- I’m not able to fall in love with men, only women. I can care about them, I _really_ enjoy having sex with them, but I’m not going to settle down and start picking out drapes.”

“You prefer men to be… friends.”

“Yeah.”

“And… for sex.”

John pulled a face, “When you say it like that it sounds _very_ sexist, but it’s really not. I just see myself settling down with a woman, not a man. Frankly I’m _more_ attracted to men, but it’s always so damn frustrating when they start wanting more than I can give them. I just… I can’t do more than _like_ them and… damn, this is hard to explain.”

John stared down into his water. He knew he needed to hydrate himself but he was feeling sick from this conversation. He’d lost a lot of good friends due to his interest in casual sex; it was the reason so many of the remaining friends hated him despite still remaining in contact. He had hurt them. He hadn’t meant to, but it had happened and their friendship had been strained afterwards. He didn’t want to lose any more.

“Anyway,” John continued finally as he cleared his throat once again, “Last night reminded me of how much I miss being with men and… I’m not getting any younger. I’m just not willing to restrain myself, you know? I don’t want to die with regrets.”

“So this means… what?” Sherlock asked.

John raised his eyes to meet Sherlock’s and steeled himself, “I’m going to start going off with men again. Nothing serious. Just… I’ll be bringing them home or going to theirs from time to time. I need to know if you’ll be okay with that. I need to know if you’ll still- as corny as this sounds- respect me.”

Sherlock was silent. His face a complete blank as he simply stared at John with his bow raised in one hand and his violin perched on his thigh on the other leg. John squirmed uncomfortably for a few minutes and then realized that Sherlock was processing and might be a while. He was probably looking things up in his mind palace, though he lacked his usual hand waving and muttering. John settled back for a long wait, assuming Sherlock was even musing on their issue, and picked up the newspaper to read. He circled things that looked like worthy cases automatically, but he knew Sherlock would dismiss most of them. Finally, a good half hour later, Sherlock took a breath and John braced himself.

“So… that means…”

“Yes?” John wondered.

“You’re…”

“Mm-hm?”

“Available…”

“To men,” Stated John.

“For sex?” Sherlock asked at the same moment.

John gaped at Sherlock, “Sex? What? You have sex? Wait. No! Gods no! I’ve lost friends that way, Sherlock. Good friends. I’m not risking that with you. You’re too…”

John blushed, realizing what he was about to say, and drank some more water instead.

“I’m too what?” Sherlock asked, eyes narrowed.

“Important to me,” John admitted, staring down at the newspaper, “Shall we pick a case?”

Sherlock was silent for so long that John thought he’d mentally skipped off again, but then he sighed and reached for the newspaper to peruse what John had circled. He tossed it aside a few minutes later and stomped over to the couch to throw himself down on it dramatically.

“ _Bored!_ ” He declared, and John braced himself for a long and trying day.

XXX

**… so that was the end of the Case of the Missing Letters.**

** COMMENTS  **

**I’m surprised you found time to write this up with how much casual sex you’ve been having.  
Sherlock Holmes **

**Blood hell, Sherlock! Not on my blog!  
John Watson **

**Why not? Your advertising my skills has placed me in a position to get more work, wouldn’t advertising your newly rediscovered sexuality be beneficial to you?  
Sherlock Holmes **

**Wait. What?  
DI Lestrade **

**What rediscovered sexuality?  
Harry Watson **

**Oh my god, I’m not having this conversation with my sister. Especially not on here. I’ll be deleting these comments in a moment. Sherlock: DON’T REPOST THEM. Harry: I’ll call you.  
John Watson **

XXX

John was grinning like a loon as he slipped out of the toilet at NSY. He couldn’t believe the reception he’d gotten since Sherlock had offhandedly mentioned John had casual sex with men on John’s blog. He’d been furious and they’d had quite the row about it, but then he’d faced his first batch of cops and they hadn’t cared. Well… one had. He’d cared in the frottage-in-the-bathroom kind of way, which was one way that John wholly approved of. He was well snogged and had come spectacularly, just like the night before. For the moment he was riding the high that was his reconnection with a basic part of his sexuality, but he knew the downside was right around the corner. This bloke left him with a firm handshake and a grin, but what about the next?

The hardest part so far was actually the women. He’d always had trouble in relationships a while back when it came to ‘the talk’ with them. Some just demanded he be monogamous with them- he was fine with that- others simply left, and some took personal offense to him being interested in sex with more than one gender or decided his casual sex with men in he past meant he’d cheat on them eventually. Now they were just turning him down at the pass. Still, he’d always been more interested in men physically and he wasn’t getting any younger, so if he didn’t end up married then that was just the direction life was headed in. He wasn’t unhappy. A bit lonely at times, but not _un_ happy.

So in order to facilitate him having a bit of fun he headed back out to the same club he’d had such a fantastic blowjob at before. He dressed nicely and spent the night dancing enthusiastically. When the night got a bit later he considered taking someone home but thought it might still be a little soon for Sherlock. Instead he headed back into the loo in the hopes he’d get at least a hand job. He stepped in and glanced down to see feet on the other side. He couldn’t contain his smile. It might _not_ be the same bloke from before, but it was definitely the same shoes. He’d know for sure if the man proceeded to treat his cock like a damn delicacy. Sure enough, John staggered out of the restroom nearly an hour later, almost dizzy with pleasure, and decided he was coming to this club more often… and hopefully _in_ it more often.

XXX

Sherlock was well and truly hooked. It was strangely satisfying to know he was meeting John’s needs. His friend had never looked more relaxed and content, a state that Sherlock was surprised to find he was thrilled to be a part of creating that mood for him. He’d also become more casual with John where touch was concerned, letting himself reach out and touch when he wanted to. John accepted it now, though he’d never been one to back up when Sherlock invaded his personal space. Instead he reciprocated, and Sherlock found himself receiving wonderful caresses on his wrist or knee at random times. He was elated. He’d never felt this way about someone and was starting to question his newfound understanding that his sexuality was pansexual aromantic. He owed that definition to John, who had given him a sense of belonging when he’d casually dropped a word in Sherlock’s lap that he’d never heard before. Now Sherlock was uncertain again, so he went to his usual source and searched the internet for answers. What he found surprised him.

A squish. He had a _squish_ on John. He wanted more contact with him- both casual and intimate- but the more he thought on it the more he realized that a romantic relationship was still not on. He didn’t want John all to himself, nor did he want to spend hours gazing into his eyes until he went mad. He wanted to discuss it with John, but the man had made his stance on sex with Sherlock clear. He had no doubt John found him attractive, their repeat performances at Club Raven had proven that much, but he wanted to keep things between them casual and Sherlock was thrilled with that. Now, however, he found himself wanting to touch John at home as well as at the club. He wondered what it would be like to have sex with him in their favorite chairs or on the couch. He curled into bed and found himself fantasizing about snuggling down with John to read a book. Would John like that? Or was his aromantic stance so casual that it was limited to sex only?

Sherlock’s answers came the next day when he strolled into their flat and found John curled into Lestrade’s side on their couch. They were both reading, nearly Sherlock’s exact fantasy, and looked up like guilty teenagers when he walked in. Sherlock knew why instantly. They’d had sex. They’d cleaned up and made themselves presentable afterwards, but there was no keeping that fact from Sherlock Holmes. In response he smiled to show his support. John was happy, almost disgustingly so, and that was wonderful. He wished _he’d_ provided it, but he was also happy that Lestrade had.

“John, Graham,” Sherlock nodded, “Mind if I join you?”

“It’s Greg,” Lestrade sighed.

“Umm,” John replied awkwardly.

Sherlock grabbed a book and curled into John’s side, resting his head on his shoulder and popping the book open. John was curled into Lestrade’s side, so that put Sherlock practically on top of him. John stilled, going stiff and uncomfortable beneath Sherlock, but he decided to wait it out. Lestrade on the other hand was staring at him in shock. Curious about his reaction, Sherlock glanced up and met dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. So. It had been long enough since they’d had sex that Lestrade was hot and bothered again. Sherlock grinned and decided that if _John_ could have casual sex with Lestrade, well, he could too!

So he leaned in for a kiss, a hungry moan and open lips meeting his, and John gasped from where his head was resting on Lestrade’s shoulder. Their snog turned heated and Sherlock twisted around to press his erection against John’s hip in order to get some friction. John scrambled out from between them and they lost their balance, Sherlock ending up with Lestrade’s head in his lap.

“Oh, that’s good,” Sherlock groaned, pressing a hand to the back of his head and encouraging him to go on to the next logical step.

Lestrade pulled away in alarm, turning to look after John and call his name when the man proceeded to bolt out the door and up to his room.

“He’s fine,” Sherlock snapped, “He’s just trying to keep things platonic between us and…”

“John!” Lestrade called, “Wait a second! I misunderstood! Just let me explain!”

Sherlock followed wondering what he was going on about, to find Lestrade outside John’s door and pleading with him through the wooden separation.

“Honestly, John, I’m sorry. Just let me talk to you.”

“Not necessary,” John replied.

“It’s just you said casual- and I’m not blaming you- but I thought that meant we weren’t exclusive.”

“We’re not. You can do whatever you want. I will too.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s more than reasonable, but I still crossed a line, yeah? I mean, right in bloody front of you…. Hell, with you in between… look, it’s no excuse, but it’s just a fantasy I’ve had for ages and…”

John’s door opened and he looked beyond frustrated- and aroused.

“Greg, I swear to god I’m not having some dramatic little fit here. I just needed to leave. Go downstairs and you and Sherlock finish what you started. It’s _fine_. No need to feel guilty.”

“Obviously there is…”

“No. There isn’t,” John replied, looking frantic, “I should have explained, but I thought Sherlock was going to be out longer. I’m trying to keep things 100% _not_ sexual with Sherlock. We have to live together and I don’t want it to get awkward or ruin our friendship. That’s why I didn’t give in to you for so many months when you first showed interest. I just don’t want to lose my friends, you’re more important to me than getting off is.”

“I’m not sure what to say to that,” Lestrade answered honestly, “You’re important to me too, but I’m not used to this sort of thing. How do you manage it, the whole friends-with-benefits thing?”

“I don’t,” John groaned, “That’s why this is so damn awkward. I’ve lost mates over this before, Greg. Today was a mistake. I shouldn’t have invited you in when Sherlock wasn’t home and I damn well shouldn’t have slept with you.”

“John,” Sherlock stated firmly, stepping up the last few steps to join the conversation, “Your guilt is misplaced. Lestrade is perfectly okay with a casual sexual relationship with you. It’s _your_ feelings he’s worried about. He’s not in love with you. He just doesn’t want to damage your friendship.”

“It’s not damaged. I’m just… I’m not a slut,” John stated, folding his arms, “I don’t want either of you thinking that.”

“No one’s thinking that,” Lestrade urged, glaring at Sherlock, “ _Neither_ of us.”

“ _I_ don’t think that,” Sherlock insisted.

“Neither do I,” Lestrade insisted, “Tell me what I did wrong. What line was crossed and when?”

“Just… no line was crossed,” John sighed, “I just didn’t want to be in between you to. I’m fine with you sleeping together, hell I’m thrilled! Sherlock will probably be less of an ass if he gets off regularly. I just couldn’t stay there between you two.”

“You’re sure?” Lestrade asked worriedly.

“ _Yes_ ,” John insisted, “Honestly, Greg, I’m no wilting flower. I know myself. I know my sexuality. I know how I feel about you, and it’s _not_ jealous. This is fine just… respect my boundaries with Sherlock. Okay?”

Lestrade nodded, still looking worried. John glanced at Sherlock and he nodded, frowning angrily. He was frustrated. He knew he had a deeper emotional connection with John than Lestrade did, but he wanted to get off with John without a _wall_ between them. He’d spent the last few months waiting for John to visit the glory hole, and he had quite a few times but Sherlock was always frustrated afterwards. He wanted what John and Greg had as well but ‘jealous’ wasn’t quite the term for it. Perhaps needy? Yes. Needy. Well, if it was getting his needs met that were an issue it didn’t _have_ to be John.

“Gavin-”

“ _Greg_!” Lestrade snapped.

“Greg I have unfulfilled needs I wish you to take care of,” Sherlock announced. 

Lestrade gaped at him, turned back to John, turned back to Sherlock, back to John…

“Oh, for fuck’s sake _go!”_ John laughed, “I’ve been turning him down so he’s probably a lot needier than I am. I’m going to nap.”

Lestrade nodded and headed downstairs with Sherlock who collapsed onto the couch and eagerly waited for Lestrade to join him. The man stood there awkwardly until Sherlock sighed and pinned him to the door, snogging him hungrily. They went at it for a while, enjoying the smooth feel of lips and tongue in contrast to the roughness of stubble until both parted with soft smiles. It was enough. They didn’t need to go farther and both felt it.

“Oh well,” Lestrade laughed with a shrug.

“I still enjoyed it,” Sherlock informed him, holding his hand and grinning with contentment, “This was _exactly_ what I needed.”

“Well I won’t lie, I was hoping for more, but…”

“No spark.”

“None,” Lestrade sighed, “You’re gorgeous, but we’re clearly not compatible.”

“Not for sex, no, but this…” Sherlock squeezed his hand a moment.

Lestrade cocked his head to one side, “You are too, aren’t you. That thingy that John is?”

“Aromantic? Yes, apparently. I’d never heard the term until he mentioned it. I’d had no reason to do any kind of research on my sexuality.”

“So you’re two aromantic men living together, both attracted to men… right?”

“Aromantically, yes.”

“And you aren’t shagging… why?”

“John doesn’t want to damage our friendship.”

Lestrade’s eyebrows furrowed, “But if you’re both aromantic…”

“Oh. John doesn’t know I am.”

“Why?” Lestrade asked in confusion.

“I haven’t told him.”

“Why _not_?”

Sherlock shrugged and Lestrade consulted the ceiling for advice before shaking his head and pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek.

“You need a cuddle you look me up. You need something else… you better get the nerve to tell John.”

Lestrade clapped him on the shoulder and launched into his reason for coming. Sherlock called John down and they headed out for a case together. Each of them seemed more relaxed than they had in quite a while.

XXX

John grinned at the sight of the shoes beneath the stall. He’d run into this same set of shoes each and every time he’d come here and made use of the glory hole. As a rule he didn’t prefer such a thing, he usually wanted the feel of a person in his arms, but since he kept seeing the same shoes he was starting to feel a bit connected to the bloke on the other side. Enough so that he whispered an invite home. The man responded by making a hasty exit. John was disappointed, but not surprised. If he was going about things this way than he probably preferred things to be anonymous.

XXX

A second chance! John was thrilled to see both the familiar shoes and the familiar cock, achingly hard and flushed at the head. He slid the condom on and gave him a few quick bobs of his head before standing up and applying some lube. He’d come prepared tonight and slid the butt plug out, dropping it onto a bit of toilet paper on top of the nearby trashcan. It was difficult with his height, but by arching and pressing his hands against the opposite wall he was able to slide down the man’s shaft relatively easily. He swore loudly with a French accent and it went straight to John’s cock. He paused a moment to adjust, the man really was surprisingly long but that was to both their benefit when a wall was between them. He was about to start attempting to move forward, and was questioning the logistics, when the man gripped the stall wall and began to move for him. John moaned and pressed his hands more firmly against the opposite wall as the slow slide began to quickly speed into a fast and furious fucking. The wall between them was shaking and John was grateful that the hole was large enough for their bollocks to slap together otherwise he’d have been contending with the wall instead. John shifted his hips and _there_ , the angle was perfect. His prostate sent jolts of pleasure to the tip of his leaking cock, spots danced before his eyes, and he was hovering on the edge of a truly fantastic orgasm. He couldn’t use his hand, however, and there was just no way to reach his goal before the man behind him let out a strangled cry, stilled, and then pulsed inside of him with a low groan of relief.

John held still, panting in frustration and excitement of such a filthy thrill. He’d never utilized a glory hole until this man showed up, his posh shoes making John think of Sherlock, and now he’d gone far enough to be _fucked_ through one! The man behind him pulled free and John whimpered without meaning to, flushing as he realized his needy state was likely evident. Without hesitation two fingers pressed against his gaping entrance and then pushed in to easily locate his p-spot and begin stroking him.

“Ease forward,” The voice whispered, the accent teasing his ears, “Give yourself room to touch. I’ll follow you.”

John shifted forward and the fingers continued their relentless stroking inside the soft walls of his body. The strain left his shoulders, his feet were flat to the ground, and John quickly grasped his aching cock. He wouldn’t last long. This was just too naughty a scenario not to be utterly overwhelmed with. John panted shamelessly as he chased his release and the stranger, his entire forearm through the hole, continued to give him that wonderful connection he needed. The man pumped his hand in and out, curling his fingers beautifully. When he added a third and _still_ managed to touch his prostate with those long, elegant fingers, John gasped, pushed back, and came hard across the bathroom floor.

“Yessss,” The man purred.

“Oh gods, oh _fuck!_ ” John gasped, shaking with the overwhelming pleasure that swamped his body. He felt giddy and high. For a moment the thought he’d topple over right then and there. It was one thing to toss off with or go down on people he knew and cared about- like Lestrade or Sgt James at the Yard- it was another thing entirely to be fucked, and it had been _ages_ since he’d had his arse properly stuffed. John was still whimpering and panting when the stall door was thrown open and he was face to face with a bedraggled and slightly frantic looking Sherlock Holmes.

“Are you alright?”

“I… what?” John asked, flushing and standing up to tuck himself in, “What are you doing here?”

Then it hit him. The other stall was empty. The shoes. Sherlock’s was wearing a fake moustache and his hair was styled differently. If John hadn’t looked up and met his eyes _before_ looking at the rest of him, and if one of his dark brown contacts hadn’t been missing, John never would have recognized him in passing.

“You… you utter _bastard_ ,” John snarled, “I _told_ you I didn’t want this!”

“You didn’t want _me_ ,” Sherlock replied, “You clearly _did_ want sex.”

John hit him. He punched Sherlock squarely in the jaw and staggered out of the stall and into the throbbing, flashing club. His eyes blurred with unshed tears as he fled the music and stumbled into the cold London night air. His friendship with Sherlock was _everything_ , and now it would end and he’d have nothing to live for again. He’d be alone in a cramped bed rest feeling empty and alone. John made it to an alley and was spectacularly sick, so distracted by the screaming of his mind that he didn’t even register Sherlock’s hand rubbing his back or his voice in his ear. John straightened up and a tissue was pressed to his face to clean it up. He stared blearily at Sherlock as the man gently dabbed around his mouth and then pressed a mint to his lips. John accepted it, his lips brushing Sherlock’s finger tips.

“Come on,” Sherlock urged, “Come home.”

John nodded miserably and the consulting detective took his hand and led him back to the street. He hailed a cab and pressed John inside first. When he slid in it was to press close to him and pull him even closer. John had his head on Sherlock’s chest. He was shaking but he couldn’t seem to stop. Baker Street. Their flat. John was ushered into the bathroom where he was directed to brush his teeth while Sherlock fetched a cup for water. John drank the whole cup and shamelessly cleaned himself up while Sherlock stood in the doorway watching him. Finally he led him to his own bedroom where John willingly collapsed onto the bed stark naked. Sherlock undressed down to his pants and crawled in behind John, spooning him gently. John drifted to sleep amidst a whirlwind of confused thought that manifested mostly as clips of scenes from his life.

XXX

Nothing had changed. John was confused by this. When James at the Yard flirted with John in an attempt to get him to go off with him Sherlock nodded a farewell and turned back to the file he was reading. John went off with him and calmly explained that this was the last time. He enjoyed James, but he didn’t want to lead him on. James was hurt and refused the wank he’d originally wanted, leaving with a sour look on his face. John sighed and went back to sit down next to Sherlock who gave him a worried look.

“Perhaps Lestrade will be more interested?” Sherlock offered.

“Lestrade and I don’t have that kind of connection,” John replied miserably.

Sherlock thought on that, “The club?”

“Not interested,” John replied, “Anonymous sex isn’t all that fulfilling.”

“You’d rather be with a friend,” Sherlock replied, then reached out and took John’s hand without looking up at him.

“Yeah,” John replied softly, “I just… Sherlock, I can’t give you what you want. I don’t fall in love with men. I enjoy them, I like them, I just don’t fall _in love_ with them.”

“Neither do I. Nor with women.”

“No one?” John asked, eyes round.

“I’m entirely aromantic,” Sherlock stated, “Ive never even dated before, nor do I intend to. Messy business.”

“I’ve never met another aromantic before,” John mused, “Everyone just assumes I’m using men for sex, but that’s not it. I care about them, I just don’t…”

“You want to be their friends and if the two of you get off now and then it’s fine.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t have much sexual attraction either,” Sherlock informed him, turning another page in the file, “I usually have sex with people around once a year. I’ll probably be good for a while now.”

“That’s fine,” John nodded, “I don’t expect anything from you.”

“Good.”

“Just your continued friendship.”

Sherlock squeezed his hand and released it to close the file and drop it on Lestrade’s desk, “Let’s find Lestrade. I want to tell him I solved his dull case without even leaving NSY.”

John followed him out with his first genuine smile in days and greeted Lestrade with a warm hug. They hung off of each other and rolled their eyes at Sherlock’s posturing. On the way home from the Yard Sherlock slammed into a woman while walking, knocking her things out of her arms.

“Watch where you’re going!” Sherlock shouted at her, continuing on while John scowled at his back.

“I’m so sorry about him,” John sighed, helping her pick up her library books, “He can be a right git when he’s bored.”

“Well, I can understand that sentiment,” The woman laughed, gratefully accepting the books John handed her, “Though I usually visit the library instead of taking it out on innocent passers by.”

“I’m fairly certain he’s read the entire thing,” John mused.

“The entire library?” She asked in shock.

“Probably more than one,” He laughed.

“Good grief! Maybe you should come and hide out at mine, he sounds like a right terror,” She smiled, extending a hand, “I’m Mary. Mary Morstan.”

“John Watson,” He grinned, accepting her handshake. Then he paused and gave the direction Sherlock had gone a suspicious look. Sure enough the consulting bastard was peeping around the corner, “Oi! You bastard! You did that on purpose!”

Sherlock sighed and stepped out, “John, she’s a nurse, intelligent, patient, kind, and most importantly _female_. She meets all the criteria for a romantic partner for you and you’re _ruining_ it by calling me on bumping into her on purpose!”

“How did you know that about me?” Mary asked, a threatening tone creeping into her voice. It went straight to John’s cock and he swallowed hard.

“He’s got a website,” John stated before Sherlock could do more than open his mouth to reply, “He’s got this talent called deducing. He does it to everyone, though utilizing it to be my wingman is new.”

Mary pulled out her phone and Sherlock read off his web address eagerly, a few minutes later and she shook her head in amusement, “Then you’d be _doctor_ Watson? No wonder ‘nurse’ is part of your criteria. It’s so much easier to date someone in the profession, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” John and Sherlock both answered.

“Oh, this is going to be _fun_ ,” She laughed, stuffing her books into Sherlock’s arms despite his offended look and looping an arm through John’s, “I can tell you’re both interesting. Tell me more.”

XXX

A year later John slipped into the club, letting the music wash over him and enjoying the thrill of the chase. He found the man he was looking for, his skin dark as coffee and his eyes so dark they appeared black. His hair was artfully arranged and his clothing smacked of wealthy and style. They danced for a while, hips grinding together and eyes fucking on the dance floor before John slipped away from him with a seductive smile. Once in the bathroom he relieved himself and then pumped the plug in his arse a few times to take the edge off of the needy feeling inside of him. Two people entered, one of them chuckling in sensually, and the stalls on either side opened and shut. He waited eagerly. Sure enough a brown cock slipped through the hole to his right and he eagerly removed the plug entirely. No condom this time. He wanted to feel the come leaking out of his ass later. His own door was opened and he glanced at the camera, the black knit hat the only thing recognizable with the camera blocking his view of her pretty face.

John dropped to his knees, humming in appreciation as he lapped at the cock in front of him. _Tastes like tea_? He’d ask later. For now he focused on sliding his tongue along the underside before circling the head and working his tongue underneath the foreskin. His lover moaned approvingly and John swallowed him down, rippling his tongue to drive him wild.

“Turn,” The camerawoman whispered, “Not too close to the wall. Let me see.”

John slipped off his cock and stood turning around, but when he reached for the cock he wanted inside of him he found a hand instead. It made a beckoning motion and John swallowed down a needy whimper as he offered his arse up to be fingered. He started with one finger despite John already being open, teasing around the rim before slowly sliding all the way in and back out again. Then he slid in two, stroking along John’s walls until he encountered the sensitive organ that made him gasp and buck. An amused chuckle met his ears and then three fingers were unceremoniously stuffed inside him. John moaned and writhed against the hand, fucking himself several times on it before he felt them pulled away.

“Nng, more!” John demanded in frustration. He’d waited too damn _long_ for this!

Another teasing laugh and then that thick cock was back. John wrapped his hand around it tightly to keep it from escaping again and slid back onto the head with a theatric moan. He slid down the length slowly, savouring every inch, until his bollocks met with his coffee coloured lover’s. John wallowed in the blissfully full feeling.

From the opposite stall a book was slid across the ground, thick and large. John stood on it and the adjustment in height was perfect for him to fuck himself on. He slid off the long, thin shaft with an eager hiss and glanced up at the camera now staring down at him from above the opposite stall to his sexual partner and gave it a flirty wink.

“As you were, soldier,” A sultry voice growled at him.

John went back to ignoring the camera and started to fuck himself on the cock throbbing inside his body. With the book beneath him this was far easier than last year, and he found himself able to do a sort off angled push-up against the opposite stall, his bare biceps flexing for the camera. He was hot and sweating now, so he released one arm to grab his shirt over his shoulder and drag it over his head. He left it dangling off of his other arm and pushed himself back with more vigour. His lover moaned behind him, gripping the top of the stall and starting to move with him. The angle changed and John swore as pleasure cascaded through him.

“Yes! Fuck me! Just like that! Oh, _fuck_!”

“Mmmm, you’re so tight,” The groan from the other side informed him, the voice sinfully deep.

John threw his head back, eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration as he kept the rhythm going while his body spiraled closer and closer towards climax. The camera shifted and John heard his lover’s stall door click open. John turned his head and the new angle let him see Mary, dressed in dark form fitting clothes, with one hand holding a light while the other held the camera. John looked away again, instead focusing on using one hand to bring himself to full hardness. Now that his prostate was being stroked so perfectly there was a fairly good chance he could come without tossing off. He just had to _get_ there first.

“That’s it, work that cock,” Mary purred, refocusing on him.

“Trust me,” The deep voice growled, “He _is_.”

“Hush you,” Mary scolded.

John loved their banter. It was doing things to him that _should_ be illegal. His bollocks were tingling and he was getting closer and closer to a release that would be truly spectacular. John’s motions became more frantic, as he neared release and the man behind him growled in approval. Mary dropped to her knees and John gasped as the camera stared straight at his bouncing erection. He was close and the thought of Mary down there filming this was enough to throw him over the edge. John cried out, his bollocks tightening up and his cock erupting across the floor and even managing to get the opposite wall as John arched his back and panted out his pleasure.

Behind him his lover was not unaffected by his climax, the muscles milking his cock as he came inside of him. John groaned at the unfamiliar feeling, a new sensation for someone who had always insisted on protection before. Mary zoomed in as Sherlock pulled out and John turned obediently to display his leaking hole for her, his hands spreading his cheeks wide as hot fluids leaked down onto his bollocks.

“Gods, this is so filthy,” John panted.

“Hush,” Mary scolded, “I want to do one more thing. Sherlock?”

Sherlock came around, frowning a bit, “The audio…?”

“Will be removed,” She replied, “Your anonymity will be safe. Come over here and fist his wet ass.”

“Oh my gods,” John panted, his cock making an admirable attempt to stand to attention once again.

“Hmm, never done that,” Sherlock hummed, “Sounds interesting. Against the sink, John. We need more room than that tiny stall will allow.”

John obediently stepped out and kneeled on the ground, stretching forward to grasp the sinks, bend his spine to present his ass for even more stretching. Sherlock lubricated his hand- never too much- and started with three fingers before quickly adding a fourth. John was panting, doing everything he could to relax the muscles in his body as they fought back against the intrusion. Five times Sherlock pumped his hand, and then he tucked in his thumb and slowly worked his hand halfway in. Three pumps and pressed his hand all the way in, the muscle around John’s anus clamping down on his wrist.

“You’re so hot,” Sherlock whispered. John could only make an embarrassing keening noise in reply. Mary snickered and he just _knew_ she wasn’t going to edit _that_ out.

“Are you doing it?”

“Not yet,” Sherlock replied, and slowly began to work his fingers into a fist.

“Oh my gods,” John gasped as he felt the thickness increase exponentially with each bent finger.

“Should I stop?” Sherlock asked, not sounding as if he really intended to.

“No,” John panted, his cock halfway hard. He began to stroke himself and Mary hissed in surprise.

“He’s hard. See if you can make him come again,” Mary replied eagerly, “Even a dry one will produce some fun sounds.”

“Oh gods, you’re both evil.”

“High functioning sociopaths,” Sherlock reminded.

“Who share your bed,” Mary added.

“Whom I fucking adore,” John gasped as Sherlock began to pump his fist.

Mary was right. He _was_ making sounds, but fun was probably not the most accurate term. Humiliating was a good word. Perhaps even ear piercing. The almost-too-much pressure on his prostate was driving him wild. His cock was hard and leaking but he doubted he’d orgasm. Sherlock moved closer and reached around, slapping at his wrist and then taking him in hand with a firm stroke that had him groaning readily. Sherlock displayed on of his unique bedroom talents and began to stroke his cock in a way that sent sparks flying between his thighs as his bollocks drew up tight to his body once again.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” Sherlock purred, “I’m going to make you scream, John. Do you think they’ll hear you out on the dance floor? The manager agreed to let us do this here, but if someone were to run in I doubt he’d stop them. Do you think they’d be horrified? Amused? _Aroused_?”

John cried out as _something_ happened to him, his body clenching in pleasure over and over again for what felt like _ages_. He was screaming, shouting Sherlock’s name and Mary’s name and probably a slew of others. He might even have shouted his own. Then he was on the cold, slightly damp floor. He felt empty and realized Sherlock had pulled out of his body at some point. He was already aching and he felt like his ass would never close back up again. It would, of course, but it didn’t _feel_ like it. He was giggling nervously.

“Gods, that was… just…”

“Mmm,” Sherlock purred, pressing a kiss to his temple, “Up. You need a shower or three.”

John got up on shaky legs and pulled up his trousers, doing up his flies as he grinned weakly at Mary and Sherlock.

“Are you satisfied, Sherlock?” John wondered.

“Quite,” Sherlock smiled, “That should keep me for a while.”

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock didn’t _really_ take a year between bouts of sex. He came at John randomly, usually preferring a bit of frottage. Sometimes John was interested, in which case they fucked like rabbits, and sometimes he wasn’t and Sherlock would go out to find someone else. Always there was Mary: Mary who would soon be round with his child. He’d hated to leave Baker Street, but it wasn’t a place to raise a child with Sherlock blowing things up every few days.

John winced as he slid into the cab between Mary and Sherlock who were chatting like the best friends they were. Happy and content, despite his discomfort, he dozed a bit until they stopped at Baker Street. He and Sherlock hugged goodbye and he drifted off on the way to his house with Mary, his head on her shoulder. She was humming lullabies when she stirred him awake and tugged him upstairs for his shower. John curled up beside her afterwards, hand resting on her abdomen as she ran their naughty film through her program to edit it before posting it on the internet porn site that Sherlock used to get off on between bouts with John.

“You’re such a filthy man,” Mary chuckled.

“Mmm, love you too,” John sighed contentedly.

 


End file.
